


Inner Beast

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ike is hurt protecting him, Soren is reminded of how much of himself is wrong and struggles to make it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inner Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Written in July of 2012. Set after chapter 8 of PoR. Thanks to Amielleon for the beta.

Soren stood in the fort's hallway, pressing his ear to the door and willing his heart to calm. The conversation inside sounded cordial, but he couldn't let his guard down. The sub-humans had already spilled Ike's blood once, and there was no reason to doubt they'd do it again…even if their irritant had been removed.

Soren's fingers dug into his tome. Ike's rebuke echoed in his head, keeping the hurt from it raw.  _None of this would have happened if you_ …

Soren bit his lip until it bled. The taste mingled with the stench of Ike's blood, which he could smell through the door. Even on a battlefield of corpses he'd recognize it.

It occurred to him that the other humans never spoke of scents that way. Shifting his tome's weight on his hip, he remembered the feral look that came over the beast before it struck. A chill ran up his neck. He tried to ignore the pounding in his ears and focus on listening. The sub-humans could strike at any moment, and Soren's reaction could determine whether Ike lived or died.

More chills ran over him as a thought came to him: did he  _want_ them to strike? The idea of wishing harm on Ike made Soren's knees weak. Surely he hadn't fallen that far. He couldn't deny that another attack would be convenient for his ego—it hadn't escaped his notice that all malice had drained from the room once he'd left it, and with each polite word exchanged, his ability to blame the beasts' nature weakened. Just like when he'd crawled into the Gallian village, his presence was the difference between courtesy and brutality.

The rebuke returned. It sliced him like a blade.  _If you hadn't provoked them…_

It was as the beasts had taught him all those years ago. Somehow,  _something_ within him was so fundamentally wrong that it changed people. Living with the one person who never changed had almost allowed him to forget. The orange-haired cat's glazed scowl had brought it all back in a crushing wave that left him numb and clamoring for something that would force her to acknowledge him. He'd lost himself, forgetting why he'd come back to this cursed country until Ike threw itself in front of him and the stench of blood snapped him back.

All attempts to eavesdrop forgotten, Soren pressed his cheek against the wall. The stone cooled his burning face. He'd never repaid Ike for saving him, and now Ike had done it again. Why? Closing his eyes, Soren tried to return to that moment and place himself in Ike's head, but it was fruitless. He could only think of the desperate instinct that would drive him to shield Ike, not what could have possessed Ike to do the same for him.

Footsteps approached. Jerking away from the door, Soren pressed instinctively against the wall. Ike was running a hand through his hair when he entered. Even as he noted the sign of stress, Soren felt soothed by the sight of him. When the beasts didn't follow, Soren stepped into view.

"Ike! Are you all right?" Soren asked. He scanned for injuries and found only the one Ike had taken for him. His chest ached.

"I'm fine," Ike said. Following Soren's gaze, he added, "The wound really wasn't that bad." He leaned his good shoulder against the wall. His mussed hair and bleary eyes made it look like he'd just stumbled out of bed. Blinking his tiredness away, he stared intently at Soren. "Hey, are you all right?"

The question caught Soren off guard. Concern wasn't something he expected even on his least offensive days, and this certainly wasn't one of them.

"Yes," he answered.

"You sure? It's not like you to get so agitated."

Soren rearranged his grip on his tome. As relieved as he was that Ike could still look at him, this attention made it hard not to step away. "I don't know of anyone else who would say that," he said. Ike didn't take the bait.

"Come off it. I know you. And I've never seen you like…that." Uncertainty crept into Ike's voice. He leaned away from the wall. With dread, Soren wondered if Ike would leave; however, Ike took another step forward and placed a hand on Soren's shoulder. "What's bothering you?" he asked.

Soren jerked away. "It's nothing," he said. Ike's hand dropped, but his gaze held steady. Searching desperately for a way out of it, Soren spotted the blood dripping down Ike's arm. "Your wound," he blurted.

"Oh. If you're feeling bad about that, don't. It's—"

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean…it needs bandaging."

Ike looked at it with disinterest. "I guess you're right."

Soren shook his head. "Sit down. I'll be right back."

In a moment, he returned. Ike was sitting on the ground of the hallway. His injured arm hung limply, while his good hand held the handle of his sword loosely. His chin rested on his chest, and his eyes were closed. If it weren't for the blood leaking from his shoulder, Soren would never have disturbed him.

Ike's eyes opened and fell on the teetering bundle in Soren's arms. Immediately, he moved to stand. He sat back down after receiving a sharp look.

"Do we really need that much?" Ike asked. "It's not that big of a wound."

"I thought it best to be prepared for any circumstance," Soren muttered. Truthfully, he'd gotten worked up, and the urge to return to Ike had caused him to grab everything in sight. Trying to brush that memory off, he knelt next to Ike and tugged at his sleeve. Ike got the hint and shrugged out of his over shirt.

The stench renewed its grip on Soren, turning not only his stomach but also that deeper part of him that recognized the smell as  _Ike_. He tried to shake the heaviness off and examine the wound. It really wasn't dire, but the sight of it on Ike made Soren's chest tighten. A growl slipped through his grit teeth. If only Ike hadn't ordered him down, he could have at least given the beast a few scars in return.

Mentally, he shook himself. A counterattack would only have put Ike in further danger. All he could do now was tend the injury.

_Could_ proved to be wishful thinking. A tremor ran through his wrists as he uncapped a vulnerary. The magic in the potion called to him, helping him regain control until the warmth of Ike's skin clouded his mind. Starting on the bandages, he placed them wrong and wrapped them too loosely. He berated himself fiercely. This was a basic skill for a mercenary, and something he should be able to do for Ike at a moment's notice.

A part of him wanted to look to Ike for comfort, but he imagined an unimpressed face and kept his gaze down. As he picked apart his botched job, he felt fresh blood under his fingers. He gave up on wrapping the bandages and pressed them down to stem the flow.

Ike grunted and jerked away. Soren looked at him sharply. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Ike said. He leaned his shoulder back toward Soren. The muscles in it had locked up.

Soren frowned. "I'm not hurting you?"

"It's the wound that hurts, Soren."

Soren's mouth went dry. He stared at an arbitrary point on Ike's knee. Ike shifted into a cross-legged position. "Soren…About what happened…"

Soren's heart sped up. In the seconds before Ike continued, Soren imagined several minutes' worth of admonitions.

"I told you this happened because you provoked them, right?"

Soren squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

"No, I wasn't asking for an apology. I know you're sorry and I'm not trying to rehash this, I just…" Ike let out a heavy breath. "Look, I don't want you to worry about it, okay? I know things have been stressful lately, and people make mistakes. I'm just glad you've stuck with me."

Surprised, Soren looked up. Ike's brow was as furrowed as he'd pictured, but the wrinkles were only signs of weariness. Soren's lips parted.  _I'll keep that in mind,_ he intended to say, and then he'd fix Ike's bandage so they could prepare to depart. However, his traitorous mouth asked, "You aren't angry?"

"No, of course not. Did you think I was?"

The knots inside Soren unwound. He shifted his knees uncertainly. "You were hurt because of me."

Ike shrugged. The strain made him wince. "Better me than you."

Soren's jaw went slack. He searched Ike's face for signs of a joke, but there was only kindness there. It switched to exasperation when Soren's eyes widened. "I wasn't going to let you get killed, Soren."

Happiness warmed Soren's chest. It was easy to forget that years had passed since their first meeting. In the humid air, he could imagine the tree root underneath him, the bark that scratched his cheek and the moss that cushioned it. Ike's offered hand felt closer than ever.

Words of gratitude rose in his throat. When they refused to pass his lips, he continued wrapping Ike's shoulder. Ike pulled away. "Don't worry about the bandage, Soren. I know you have other work to do. I'll ask Rhys—"

"No," Soren said. He took a deep breath. "I…it was my fault you were injured. It's only right that I tend the wound." He closed his eyes. "Please."

He hadn't meant to beg, but before he could berate himself for it, Ike leaned back toward him.

"All right," Ike said.

Soren finished the job wordlessly. Now that his hands weren't shaking, his controlled movements gave him focus. As he checked the tightness, he noted with satisfaction that the flow of blood had stopped. Ike started to stand as soon as the bandage was on. Soren held him down long enough to finish wiping off the dried blood. Ike's fidgeting almost made him smile.

When Soren was finally done, Ike rotated his shoulder and grinned. "Thanks," he said.

Soren shook his head. It was beyond him how Ike could express gratitude when Soren had only been patching up his own mistake. "Don't mention it," he said, reaching to gather the excess healing items. He still hadn't thanked Ike, he realized. Ike made such gestures sound so natural, but even with everything Soren owed him, when he tried to express it he felt as mute as he'd once been.

He paused. Wasn't it Ike who had shown him how to use his voice? He cleared his throat. "Ike…"

"Yes?"

"Th-thank you."

Ike patted Soren's arm. "No problem. I'm just glad you're all right." He stood and stretched. His words echoed in Soren's mind as he continued picking up the supplies. Soren knew Ike too well to waste time arguing when Ike insisted on helping him carry them back.

They arrived in the storage room. Ike dropped his bundle in a heap that Soren immediately moved to straighten.

"Hey, Soren?"

Soren didn't look up from his organizing. "Yes?"

When he received no response, he stopped his task and turned. Ike was rubbing his neck. "Sorry, it's just…I've never been in charge of heading out before," he said.

Soren nodded. "I'll guide you through the steps."

"Thank you. I know I have no business being in charge of any of this, but, well…" Ike shrugged. Unsaid words hung there. Soren didn't broach them.

"Why don't you check on how everyone's doing? I'll write you a list of tasks."

"I'll do that. And Soren…thanks. You're a big help."

Soren forced down a smile, then thought better of it and forced it back up. It was worth the effort when Ike returned it.

Ike left, rubbing his shoulder and cringing. The image stayed with Soren as he laid out a sheet of parchment. He stared at the empty page without seeing it. The moment Ike left, the wrongness had begun to sink in. Like ink bleeding across a sheet, it spread and stained him until he wasn't sure what qualified him to do even this basic task. He shook his head firmly. He wouldn't fail Ike on such a simple promise. He dipped his quill and began to write.


End file.
